Ursprung
by kekkie
Summary: A short tale of Kurt Wagner, a mutant of unknown origin. Will he ever discover his roots? What goes on in the mind of a forsaken soul? Kurt/Ororo not-so-happy X2 and possibly X3 spoilers. Now complete.
1. Prologue

Raven stood upon the outcrop and shivered. A cold wind buffeted at her back, but it was not the weather that caused the involuntary movement of her skin, which was not really hers. Indeed, an onlooker would not see the woman standing by the waterfall with a tiny babe in her arms. They would see a man. A large, muscular man with close-cropped, dark hair, his arms held high above him with ruthless bloodlust blazing in his dark eyes.

Another cool breeze sent the chill down the young woman's flexible spine. No, it was not the wind that made her shiver. It was just the babe.

How could such a small thing cause her such agony? The woman knew, of course. This demon-child was her son. And, though it appalled her to no end, losing him was about to be the hardest thing she had ever done.

Yet another shiver wracked Raven's slender body, and she was forced to admit it was naught but a tremble. Why was she so shaken? She had always been strong. She had to be strong, to have this son, to send him to his fate...

She trembled violently now as her heightened senses picked up the roar of an enraged rabble making their way inexorably up the steep slope leading to the cliff's edge. For a moment she clutched the babe more tightly with her man's fingers for the foolish fear of dropping him. Why did she still have these mothers' instincts of protection, when she was about to kill him anyway?

There, she had thought it. She was about to kill her beloved son, the one who looked so much like her. The _real _her. The child was like a male version of herself, in truth, if one was to ignore small matters such as numbers of digits and inexplicable tails.

She could see the flickering light of the rabble's torches, now, as they approached from her left. The young mother gulped slowly, then, still bearing the babe high above her head, she turned to face the enraged townsfolk.

It was all too suddenly that the rabble was just about upon her. When the nearest of them were mere feet away, she spoke in clear, steady tones that surprised even herself. She spoke to remind them of whom they were crowding around – not the terrible shape-shifting woman who had borne the demon-child, but a fellow townsman, holding the bloodthirsty town's sacrifice high above his head.

Raven could see the expressions of the townsfolk flickering in the torchlight. They were hideous faces, distorted by hatred borne of fear of the unknown. But they trusted her. Only because they believed that someone else spoke the bitter words. She smiled the grimmest of smiles at the irony. But the townsfolk would only see a man about to kill a small child, and pleased about it.

It was then, in the silence that followed her brief words, that the babe began to cry. He cried in a piercing wail, as if somehow knowing his doom's imminence.

An unsteady shuffle of the gathered let Raven know that if she did not dispose of the child now, the crowd would do it for her. She knew she could defeat the entire mass, kill them all, but in these days of her innocence, she still could not bear to take away a life.

And yet she stood on the brink of a waterfall, about to kill her own son. With silent hatred welling inside her for all of humankind, Raven let go.

She did not dare watch. As soon as the weeping babe began his final plummet, Raven turned back to the crowd. 

In the darkness of this fateful night, none would have seen the townsman's eyes glow in distinctive burnished gold.


	2. Reflections in Prayer

Late morning sun shone through the eastern windows of Xavier's School for Gifted Students. Most young students were in their classes, learning the unique lessons that no normal teen would learn from the most extraordinary of teachers.

"Im Namen des Vaters und des Sohnes und des Heiligen Geistes..."

This school was as unique as its staff and students themselves. Few high schools could boast a jet plane stationed beneath their basketball court, or endless metallic corridors below the surface.

"Ich glaube an Gott, den Vater, den Allmächtigen, den Schöpfer des Himmels und der Erde..."

Nor could many schools boast the presence of a gigantic spherical room, which could be used to find any being on the entire planet.

Cerebro was an incredible tool, but in the past it had been manipulated for the worst. Which was just the reason why two people were there this fine morning. 

Professor Xavier was the head of the entire organisation that was comprised of the Mutant High and the small faction called the X-men. It was his self-given duty to care for all mutants coming into their powers. Or at least, those he could get his hands on. It was his other duty to oppose those who escaped his gentle but firm grasp.

Doctor Jean Gray, also known as Phoenix, stood beside the wheelchair-bound, balding Professor, peering into the machinations that were the core of Cerebro. She was not short for a woman, and she had long, red hair, as well as intelligent eyes that were now studying Cerebro's make up with the Professor, in hopes of safeguarding it from further misuse.

"und an Jesus Cristus, seinen eingeborenen Sohn, unsern Herrn, empfangen durch den Heiligen Geist, geboren von der Jungfrau Maria, gelitten unter Pontius Pilatus, gekreuzigt, gestorben und begraben..."

In one of the finely furnished, luxurious rooms of the upper divisions of the compound, a solitary figure sat crouched and bent on a bed. The position of this figure would have caused discomfort to most people.

But he was not most people.

This much was obvious from a person's first glance at this man. The first thing that struck a viewer would have been his deep blue skin. That was clearly _not_ natural. Every now and then, the figure's sinuous blue tail flopped over like a fish on land. It was very long, and clearly muscular. This demonic feature was capable of supporting at least the man's weight off a wall or ceiling. The man also had strange hands and feet, which he wore bare unfailingly. Compared to a normal human's ten fingers and ten toes, this blue man had three fingers per hand and a mere two finger-like toes per foot.

"hinabgestiegen in das Reich des Todes, am dritten Tage auferstanden von den Toten, aufgefahren in den Himmel..."

The blue man looked up from his crouched position, turning his golden gaze to the heavens. Kurt Wagner was devoutly Catholic, and took as much time as he could to pray. In his odd hands he clumsily held a string of white rosary beads.

"er sitzt zur Rechten Gottes, des allmächtigen Vaters..."

Though the words he spoke did not reflect his thoughts, Kurt was praying for his past. As usual. The young man rarely gave a prayer for anything else, save for praising his Lord. He knew that to pray for something that was gone was folly, but to him, it was the most fitting thing for which a man like him could pray.

He knew little of his origins, his ursprung. He knew that Margali Szardos raised him, the gypsy woman he would never forget. She was like a mother to him, but when her black magic took her...

Kurt thrust the unwanted memories from his mind. Memories of his foster mother inevitably paved the way for further reminiscence, and unbidden and unwanted, it came.

He remembered Stefan and Jimaine, his brother and sister only through Margali. How he had loved them! How he had cherished the childhood he had shared with them! And yet, even their memories bore a dark taint. Stefan had come to his own sorrowful end, at the hands of Kurt himself. As he prayed, the German traced the three fingers of his right hand along one of the intricate marks marring his skin. The first one he had ever given himself, for murder.

"von dort wird er kommen, zu richten die Lebenden und die Toten..."

He recalled the days of his adolescence, performing for the travelling circus his foster family was part of. His flexible spine was never given to pain, and allowed him to execute incredible acrobatic feats. Crowds had marvelled at him, awe filling their widened eyes as he swung effortlessly on the trapeze. They had assumed that his very body had been a costume. How he had hated that! And yet, he had not hated them, for they had accepted him.

"Ich glaube an den Heiligen Geist, die heilige katolische Kirche, Gemeinschaft der Heiligen..."

He remembered Jimaine, his foster-sister, with special fondness and melancholy. He recalled how, in his growing body, his gift of teleportation had come. With it had come the particular feelings he had felt for his foster-sister, love beyond what would pass as brotherly.

He remembered the grief of separation caused by his bond to her.

"Vergebung der Sünde, Auferstehung der Toten und das ewige Leben. Amen."

Kurt shuffled the rosary beads around in his demoniac hands, and pressed the next pearly white bead between two of his fingers and moved on to the next prayer. With his mind and heart focused on the words he intoned, he began the Lord's Prayer.

"Vater unser im Himmel, geheiligt werde dein Name..."


	3. Unbidden Desire

The empty halls of the upper compound of the school were pierced by the harsh electrical sound of a recorded bell echoing through the silence. A moment later, teens streamed in from all angles, some chattering and laughing to each other, some keeping inconspicuously to themselves. It didn't matter how one's character was, here. To be accepted, you _had_ to be different, really. It was this strong value, stamped irreversibly into the mind of each and every student, that made life so fulfilling and easily enjoyed for all young mutants.

The sound of banging locker doors signaled the beginning of the movement to the next class for all students. Slowly, the numbers of teens flooding the corridors dwindled, to inevitably leave the halls as empty as they had been five minutes ago.

It was strange, thought Ororo, how something could change so quickly, to only become itself again in no time at all. She sat behind the desk in her own private classroom, fiddling idly with the black marker she had just been using to instruct her first-years on the finer details of... what had it been again? The mutant woman cursed silently, shaking her head and permitting herself a long-suffering sigh. 

Her thoughts had been rather scattered of late, like motes of fine dust disturbed by a breath of gentle breeze. And Ororo thought she knew the identity of the current. In fact, she knew exactly whom it was that left her bereft of focus.

The man Kurt had tugged at the seams of her soul from the moment she had laid eyes on him. She had instantly pitied the forlornly slouched figure, his dark and brooding nature, and his utter loneliness borne of total detachment from the outside world. She couldn't help but wonder about his shrouded past. All she knew of him was that he had been in the Munich Circus, performing under the name of "The Incredible Nightcrawler".

Poor man. He had been forced to display himself as a freak of some sort, before the myriad eyes of endless crowds. And he had probably been rejected. Ororo couldn't even begin to imagine looking so completely different to the normal human being. Even Mystique had the ability to change her appearance. Kurt had no such luxury.

Ororo did not think of Kurt as being physically attractive by any means. How could anyone gravitate towards unnaturally blue colouring, razor-sharp teeth and three fingers? He had the look of a somehow distorted demon.

And yet, Ororo was attracted to this man. She had forced herself to come to that conclusion some time ago, even before Jean's rebirth. She simply loved him. She loved everything about him – his sorrowful posture, the perfect blue tint cloaking him, his gentle nature, his innocence, and his kindness – all of it.

But there was something that held her back from him. Though she loved it in him, he was devoutly Catholic, beyond the bounds of reason. It had touched her very soul when she learned the extent of his faith in the Christian G-d, but now it frustrated her. It seemed like an impermeable barrier between them, imperceptible but unquestionably fathomed.

A new determination welled up inside the mutant woman. She would not – _could_ not – allow this to carry on any more. She had to sort this out, and _now!_ This unsatisfied desire had been eating at her heart for too long. She just had to know now – did he feel the same way?

Ororo pushed out her chair from under her desk and stood, leaving the black marker to roll forward and off the end of the desk. She watched as it fell, her nerves twisting her stomach uncomfortably.

But the snow-haired woman exited the vacant classroom with as much determination as with which she had stood from her desk. She was glad of the spare she was granted once daily for lunch. Now, her thirst would be quenched. She would discover Kurt's love for her, she was certain. She had seen it in his irresistible golden eyes.


	4. Confrontation

Storm was glad of the silence of the empty corridors, but her footsteps echoed ominously off the lockers and wooden walls, serving to unnerve the woman considerably. Still, the love burning in her fueled her movement, and she was soon at the door.

"Gegrüßet seist du Maria, voll der Gnade. Der Herr ist mit Dir..."

Ororo paused at the door, her fisted hand failing just short of the dark wooden panels. She nearly turned back. She did not truly wish to disturb Kurt's prayers.

"Du bist gebenedeit unter den Frauen und gebenedeit ist die Frucht Deines Leibes Jesu..."

Her hand fell to her side, but Ororo did not harbour any abdicating thoughts. Instead, she was chiding herself. If she ever wanted to speak to the man, now was the time. He would always be praying, anyway. And, if she managed to win her way into a more meaningful place in his life, that would probably stop most of his precious prayer. The worm of guilt worked its way into her, but she ignored it. If the prayer were more valuable than she was, he would choose the prayer, would he not?

"Heilige Maria, Mutter Gottes, bitte für uns Sünder jetzt und in der Stunde unseres Todes Amen."

Ororo heard the final word of the prayer, then, taking a deep breath, knocked quietly on the door.

"Come."

Ororo slowly opened the heavy wooden door, stepped into the room, and gently closed it behind her. She turned around, but did not raise her eyes to meet Kurt's. Instead, she directed them to the polished wooden floorboards.

"Ah! Storm! It is good to see you," the Nightcrawler greeted her with his thick German accent.

She raised her eyes slowly, to meet the blue man's. He was seated on the bed, his back curved in a C shape that Ororo would have thought would cause considerable discomfort. But she knew Kurt felt no such concerns.

"Please," the woman began, and her throat caught. Frustrated with herself, she started over. "Please, call me Ororo." Most called her Storm, anyway, but she would prefer it if Kurt called her by her true name. It felt much more personal.

The slumped man nodded. "Very vell," he answered. "Ororo." The name sounded odd on his tongue, but the mutant woman before him loved him all the more for his attempt. "You haf come to pray?" he inquired innocently.

Ororo shook her head, smiling sadly. Instead of replying, she took a seat next to him on the bed. Kurt watched her silently, his golden eyes never leaving her. The mutant woman kept her head down, wondering what to say. She had come in here, determined to express her feelings, and now… she could not think of a word to say.

Kurt shifted his position, rearranging himself so that he almost mirrored her pose, his long, twin-toed feet planted on the floor next to her own smaller, more normal ones. A moment of silence followed, before the man spoke quietly.

"How did you come to zis place?" he asked. "Ich do not know about you."

Storm looked up in surprise. She had not expected this. Abruptly, she smiled. An opening had come. "I don't know too much about you, either," she replied, barely keeping the slyness out of her tone. It was Kurt's turn to look surprised. But he did as she had subtly requested, and shared his past.

Ororo sat aghast as she listened to the man's long tale of his childhood. By the end she was weeping uncontrollably. She hated to be weak, but she could not see how this man could go for so many years without crying. He had gone through so much!

So she buried her head in her hands, there and then, and wept for him. Kurt had hissed with surprise when the first tear had rolled ominously down her cheek, but slowly his golden eyes had filled with an unrecognisable expression. Ororo did not care, tough, for when that expression came, he wrapped an arm about her slender shoulders and pulled her in close, allowing her to sob into his shoulder.

Ororo stayed there for a long time, her head buried deep into the small nook between his neck and shoulder. He didn't smell like a human, she realised. She remained there, enveloped in his embrace, taking in his wonderful scent and cherishing the moment she had longed for.

"I love you," she mumbled quietly into his black shirt. It seemed the least she could do. After all the love he had lost so tragically…

She gaped in shock, taken aback. He had thrust her back suddenly, jerking her neck uncomfortably. Her eyes widened as she noticed the hurt expression on his open face.

"Vhat?" he asked warily. Ororo could feel the tears begin to well up again. So he did not trust love any more, she thought. Well, she could change that for him. She carefully softened her features.

"I think you heard me. I do not lie about such things, Kurt."

Anger filled his eyes, causing them to flash in a strangely familiar way. "Ja. Ich heard you. Vhy do you say zis?" Strange, thought Ororo. Even when angered, his tone was gentle. It was amazing what faith could do to a man.

She could not stop the next question from escaping her unguarded lips. She had already asked him this, but she still did not understand the answer.

"Why do you have so much faith? How could you, after everything?"

This time, the anger flared up. Ororo instantly regretted her inquiry. She should have known it would hurt him. "Vhy do you ask me zis? You should know, of all ze people! Ich haf told you all of mein past. How could you ask me…?" he suddenly looked more slumped than ever. He dropped his eyes to the floor.

"Ich love ze Lord, for He has saved me. He has made mein life more valuable zan you could believe. He is ze hope for mein salvation. And He is ze one caring for mein family. He is ze keeper of mein…" he struggled for a word. "Ursprung," he concluded, obviously exasperated at his lack of an English word to suit.

He looked up at Ororo then, grief painted all over his face. She could not help it. She broke down in tears. She knew what this was – rejection.

She had not loved another for a very long time, and she guessed that she never would again. She was known as a loner, and she had grown tired of it. And now, Kurt – the one she loved – had forsaken her for a greater love.

The blue man sighed, then raised a three-fingered hand to gently stroke her cheek. "You are very beautiful," he murmured, "but Ich do not love you. You are ze most wonderful woman Ich have met in a very long time, but… Ich cannot love you, in ze way zat you need." He dropped his hand from her cheek, then twisted his lithe frame around on the bed until he was facing the other direction. Ororo knew it was time to go.

She quietly stood, tears pouring relentlessly down her cheeks. He was so sad, and yet he would not allow anyone to cheer him up. He was so lonely, but he would not let anyone in his little cocoon, not let anyone accompany him.

Without a word, she turned her back to his back and put her hand on the brass handle. She paused, hoping beyond hope that he would call her back, apologise, beg for her to stay, so he could wrap her in his long arms, laying her gently upon the bed…

But no heavily accented word came from the silent, perfectly still figure. With a shaky sigh, Ororo left the room.

--------

A/N: Sad, ne? NO! I am an adamant protester against Kurt/Ororo. This is what I think should definitely happen. It is all too clear that Storm has a "thing" for Nightcrawler in the movie, but Kurt is supposed to end up single and in a monastery. So, what do I do? I make it REJECTION!!!

Mwahahaha!

Well, as much as I love hearing from all you guys, and receiving all your really encouraging comments, they don't really… help. See, they don't criticise enough. I'm a bit weird, ne? But I really would appreciate some constructive criticism. N.B.: This is NOT an invitation for flames!

Well, expect one or two more chapters. This was never supposed to be long. In fact, it's longer than I anticipated. Thanks to you guys, asking for more all the time!

Anyway, this chapter was a bit of a bold step for me. I've never tried romance before. I can do angst, sure, but _romance?_ I never _read_ it. How am I supposed to _write_ it?

Any feedback would be greatly appreciated.

~Kekkie


	5. Revelations

Why, Lord, have you brought this upon me?

Noonday sun shot its blinding arrows with unerring aim down upon the compound fondly known as Mutant High. Teenage mutants played their games amongst themselves – those normal games of social ladder climbing and power that ruled most playgrounds throughout the nation. And yet, such games were accompanied by jovial laughter, rarely mocking at face value, and to most, this would be a scene of total bliss.

But not every mutant throughout the compound was happy. Two mutants, in particular, bore shattered hearts tainted by the painful exposure of emotion and thought.

One of these mutants was busy, trying to forget the agonizing experience of a heart laid open and vulnerable. The other had not moved for a good hour, at least.

Not a whisper dared mar the heavy silence of the room. There was a void here – a vacuum selectively absorbing only sound and movement. In itself, the room had not changed since early morning when the occupant had made the bed. The tenant, however, had transformed entirely.

Had Kurt Wagner felt up to prayer right now, he would not have broken the blanket of utter stillness, either. He would have prayed for even the tiniest sound to do it for him.

But at the moment, he was most definitely not feeling inclined to beseech his Lord. He had been too far shaken by the woman Ororo's proclamation.

What had she been thinking? He could not imagine. At her simple nudging, he had trusted her enough to lay his entire life at her feet, vulnerable and tender. She had betrayed that unspoken trust.

How could she say that she loved him? She knew about Jimaine. She knew that he had just made himself as weak and susceptible to pain as he had ever been. And she had attacked without mercy.

He had thought that he loved her, at first. Back when she and Dr. Gray had collected him from his sanctuary. That was why he had gone with them. He had thought she was going to be his heart's saviour.

It had turned out so differently. She was not an Angel of G-d. She had not been sent to heal his scarred heart. She was simply another woman, whom he had ended up not loving, after all.

It was not as if he had fallen in love with her at first sight. He had simply thought that he would inevitably come to love her. But he had not. As wonderful as she was, she had not captured his heart.

On top of this, she would not accept his faith. She wanted him to wash it aside, to make way for her love. And Kurt knew that he could never do that.

All he had left now was his past. Such a companion it was, too. All it ever brought him was grief, and a glimmer of happiness that slid from his vision as soon as it caught his eye, like the glimmer of the furthest star. All he had now was the continuous struggle to hold on to that glimmer.

Sadly, he turned the rosary beads around in his demoniac hands, unconsciously breaking the utter stillness of the room. He began to recite the Glory Be.

"Ehre sei dem Vater und dem Sohn und dem heiligen Geist..."

His hand suddenly clenched tightly around the pearly beads as Kurt raised his golden eyes to look at the ceiling. All those around him – G-d, Ororo, the Professor, Dr. Gray – they had all been so kind to him. They all offered him a bright future. And yet, he was sitting here, wallowing in his past. He had been so selfish and blind.

He needed to cherish the present. He should be living the now, rather than reliving the then. He had to accept the free gift those around him were offering him – happiness.

So many people were accepting him for who and what he was, unlike many of those in his past. They were accepting him, attempting to heal him, trying to help him. Essentially, he had been turning down their best efforts.

I am sorry, Lord.

With a new determination he knew to be a gift from his G-d, Kurt Wagner turned about on the bed. He did not need his past. He could never forget it, and he would continue to pray for it regularly, but he now knew that it was not the most important thing for the present.

As he stood and headed for the door, Kurt felt the beginnings of a smile in the pit of his soul. He would not grin for a time yet, he understood, but it was a start. He would be happy one day. As he opened the door to leave, Kurt sent a final prayer to his G-d.

Thank you, Lord.

-----

A/N: That ending sucked. I dunno, it was too sudden or something. But hey, I was getting sick of this story anyway. I never liked it.

Well, this has been hard. Trying to tie the comics in with the movie, especially since they are really quite unrelated. But, since I read the comic long before the movies came, I am a bit more loyal to the original story. So you would have seen more of the comic here than the movie, I think.

This little fic never had a plan, unlike stuff I normally write. I just wrote the prologue, with the intention of Kurt rejecting Ororo some time. So it hasn't really ended up with much of a plot. It didn't quite satisfy at the end, but hey, I feel like moving on to another fic. I haven't quite figured out what it will be about, but... oh well.

That's it for now!

~Kekkie


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